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It began with remarkable subtlety, much like a sunrise that can be breathtaking before, hours later, giving way to a devastating storm.
Shamrock had been innocent — a lovestruck fool.
Your invitation to him to spend the night at your house had not gone unnoticed by Jade, the cat. Your little gremlin watched you pace around the bedroom, carefully getting ready in all those tiny ways that reflected the affection she had grown accustomed to ever since you adopted her. Her large, fluffy body rested atop a pink cotton cushion on your vanity, made especially for her.
Jade yawned, blinked slowly, and lowered her head with the quiet resignation reserved for emperors exhausted by their own grand empires.
The little cat trusted that you would never do anything to upset her, because that was the unspoken language shared between mother and daughter. No one was allowed to disturb the peace of their home. Jade would make sure of that.
Much to her displeasure, however, there was a fool for everything.
She neither hid, nor avoided him, nor did she approach. Instead, she observed every interaction from a safe distance, and within only a few minutes, she had already reached her verdict on the man — as she always did with anyone who stepped into your life.
He was nothing more than a stray dog from Mary Geoise.
The mutual dislike had been expected. You had warned him beforehand that your cat — your adorable little princess — could be excessively protective. Shamrock, however, would have described the situation very differently. From his perspective, he was simply an ignorant outsider, an explorer trespassing upon territory that already belonged to someone else. And that someone else was an overweight, greedy, jealous cat beyond human comprehension. The Commander had a vague understanding that, for your sake, the wicked little creature would be perfectly willing to spill blood.
Their endless clashes eventually brought them to a point where one of them would have to give in, because you would never tolerate fighting — even if it happened when you weren't looking.
The Commander tried — emphasis on tried — to be diplomatic, and, in a way, even resorted to a little bribery. He brought toys, custom-made clothes, expensive treats from time to time, and the determination of a man seeking the approval of the woman he loved.
And with her little paws dangling lazily in the air, Jade stared at him with utter smugness, as though he were merely one more fool who had tried before and failed miserably.
Then came one particular morning, when the sun struggled to pierce the heavy curtains with rays like threads of gold. Shamrock slept peacefully, one protective hand resting against your back beneath the comforter that covered him up to his shoulders, finally getting the proper rest he had long neglected because of his duties.
Digging her claws into him out of pure spite, Jade appeared perched atop his back. There was curiosity in her eyes — a silent question of whether Shamrock truly needed to remain alive.
She had been sitting there for several minutes already, thoroughly bored, patiently waiting for the man to have the decency to disappear so she could wake you herself with soft, adorable meows — something he had absolutely no right to witness firsthand.
When he finally stirred, feeling an unusual weight pressing against his lower back, he turned just enough — still sleepy and therefore half-blind — to identify the threat.
What followed was an intense exchange of stares, the very same kind Shamrock reserved for his targets and sworn enemies.
And yet, perhaps it was the absurdly early hour, or the sweet scent lingering in your sheets, or the comforting warmth he felt simply by lying beside you, but Shams did what any wise man in his position would have done...
He gave up.
Letting his head fall back onto the pillow once more.
Which the smug cat naturally interpreted as a victory, padding even closer before curling up against her enemy's exposed shoulder.
notes: I'm taking this from drafts without much revision. If you liked it, know that I'm sending you a kiss. If you didn't like it: I'll be sending you a kiss on the mouth 🤭🤭
Someone slides up on pro hero Dynamite's live and asks what his skincare routine is.
"What's my skincare routine?" He pauses for a second and looks at you in your tiny pink lace slip dress putting dishes away. It has cute sakura flowers adorning your chest, holding it up nice and pretty.
"My girl sits on my face every morning n night, next question."
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having a best friend who meets your level of freak is unmatched. you present them with the most unhinged, deeply buried thought from the depths of your psyche and instead of blinking blankly they just go "oh absolutely"—and I think that mutual brain rot like that is the highest form of intimacy actually.
having to come to terms with the fact that love is not an everlasting performance in which you attempt to retain the attention of your significant other but rather a release of control and putting faith into them and trusting them to choose to stay with you no matter what you have to offer
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“A pirate who has somewhere to return to... that surprises me every time,” she meets your gaze as she brings the bottle to her full lips. “What else do you have that could surprise me again?”
You smile, shaking your head. “Well, I think I told you at some point, but the story is this: I don't even know which island I was born on. My mother was always on the move, and I adapted naturally.” Your voice is soft, lost in a nostalgia that Gloriosa can share, even if she doesn't fully understand it. “I always think that I simply belong to the sea. It's where I've spent most of my life — traveling, growing, learning, and consequently, where I found an enjoyable job.”
“Piracy?”
“It was also a way to reach you, so it couldn't have been all bad.”
She laughs, a quiet laugh, a pleasant sound that keeps you from looking away. Even though the ocean around you is treacherous and violent, your attention could not be pulled from this woman who still enchants you in every detail — every single day.
That night, aboard the small vessel of a solitary traveler, you lay silently against the wood, your head tilted toward Gloriosa, feeling her nails gently caress your face while she kept her eyes fixed on the bright, star-filled sky, as though every star shone only for two travelers on a journey of rest. She would find a way to thank you for loving her, even knowing that you would not mind waiting, already aware of Gloriosa's feelings and intentions. Could she truly be deserving of someone who had waited for her? If she spent the rest of her life without ever crossing Amazon Lily again, that would be alright. At last, she would make peace with herself. To put it plainly, she would dedicate her life to following you and loving you as you deserve.
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I wasn’t going to say anything, but some of the youngest are getting on my nerves recently, as I was reading some notes.
It has come to my attention (reading comments from the AO3 community) that some people think the use of “—” (the dash) is a "sign" of stories created by ChatGPT.
First of all, that is fucking stupid, it is a punctuation I see in almost every english book I have, like? Writers from different languagues use the dash almost as much as us, Brazilians like to use “()” [parenthesis] and commas. Secondly, I, like many who read books in other languagues besides north american English, don't need to use that crap to tell us how to use punctuation — although, recently, I've read some other romance books I found in English, and many of them used this punctuation because it's nicely dramatic and useful for avoiding repeating commas and putting multiple things in parentheses.
My master's advisor has been forcing me to use it a lot more for articles, and she made a very good point. According to her, proficient writers use a lot of dashes because it changes the meaning, it's like moving the words to have the height you want (“ stop using so many commas, use the dash and cut some points”, is what she's always saying, she tells that to my face too, the nerve… But, she is older, smarter and has been in the field longer than I exist, so I just listen to her).
Anyway, I write now mostly to practice my English, which explains the typos and even grammar mistakes you might find. I write in the early hours, post it, and only reread it once, lol, I'm lazy af. So, the plot errors, the dialogues, and the long descriptions of settings that look like a novel by Eça de Queirós are all mine. I'm heavily influenced by the Brazilian authors I read; anyone who knows them should notice. Unfortunately, this makes translating some of the allusions I make difficult, but again, that's all on me. Besides, there are so many more synonyms in Portuguese than in English. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to write translating from your head and realizing you've repeated the same word multiple times because there are so few in the language you're writing in? I can understand why Shakespeare invented so many more.
There's also the pure and simple personal taste of the author. There are certain authors you can identify by how they like to write. Some focus on dialogues, others love describing settings in detail, and some prefer one type of punctuation over another. Furthermore, most people who starts writing fanfiction are young, in or just out of high school, and are still creating their own writing style, which will certainly change as they write more.
Most of all, I don't believe in asking AI to write a story for me to post. If I don't even spend 5 minutes writing it, why should you spend time reading it?
I don't believe in art created by IA; I don't get into trends of transforming photos; I abhor those who go to “IA chat therapy”, and those who ask their bots to write their emails and reply to their friends' messages.
In short, that's why I say I don't care who points out English errors, because I genuinely don't give a damn about mistakes. My errors are proof that I took the time out of my life to type, because I enjoy writing something that isn't scientific theses. I've been a fanfic writer since 2009, when I started on Nyah (a Brazilian website), and I persisted on AO3, where I learned to write in English just to keep creating oneshots.
I took my time to learn how to create, and that is the proof that I exist beyond my boring desk work.
But many of the youngs don't know much about construction in text, and it shows.
Death is certain, my dears, so enjoy your human brief life all the way you can. Make mistakes, write bad fiction, and try to speak from your honest loss of words to the people you care about.
prguitarman
turnnoffyourmind
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